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Brutal
,
standing
beside
Old
Sparky
,
gave
me
a
small
finger-tilt
as
we
stepped
up
onto
the
platform
.
He
holstered
his
sidearm
and
took
John
"
s
wrist
,
escorting
him
toward
the
electric
chair
as
gently
as
a
boy
leading
his
date
out
onto
the
floor
for
their
first
dance
as
a
couple
.
"
Everything
all
right
,
John
?
"
he
asked
in
a
low
voice
.
"
Yes
,
boss
,
but
...
"
His
eyes
were
moving
from
side
to
side
in
their
sockets
,
and
for
the
first
time
he
looked
and
sounded
scared
.
"
But
they
's
a
lot
of
folks
here
hate
me
.
A
lot
.
I
can
feel
it
.
Hurts
.
Bores
in
like
bee-stings
an
"
hurts
.
"
"
Feel
how
we
feel
,
then
,
"
Brutal
said
in
that
same
low
voice
.
"
We
do
n't
hate
you
--
can
you
feel
that
?
"
"
Yes
,
boss
.
"
But
his
voice
was
trembling
worse
now
,
and
his
eyes
had
begun
to
leak
their
slow
tears
again
.
"
Kill
him
twice
,
you
boys
!
"
Marjorie
Detterick
suddenly
screamed
.
Her
ragged
,
strident
voice
was
like
a
slap
.
John
cringed
against
me
and
moaned
.
"
You
go
on
and
kill
that
raping
baby-killer
twice
,
that
'd
be
just
fine
!
"
Klaus
,
still
looking
like
a
man
dreaming
awake
,
pulled
her
against
his
shoulder
.
She
began
to
sob
.
I
saw
with
dismay
that
Harry
Terwilliger
was
crying
,
too
.
So
far
none
of
the
spectators
had
seen
his
tears
--
his
back
was
to
them
--
but
he
was
crying
,
all
right
.
Still
,
what
could
we
do
?
Besides
push
on
with
it
,
I
mean
?
Brutal
and
I
turned
John
around
.
Brutal
pressed
on
one
of
the
big
man
's
shoulders
and
John
sat
.
He
gripped
Sparky
's
wide
oak
arms
,
his
eyes
moving
from
side
to
side
,
his
tongue
darting
out
to
wet
first
one
corner
of
his
mouth
,
then
the
other
.
Harry
and
I
dropped
to
our
knees
.
The
day
before
,
we
'd
had
one
of
the
shop-trusties
weld
temporary
flexible
extensions
to
the
chair
's
ankle
clamps
,
because
John
Coffey
's
ankles
were
nigh
on
the
size
of
an
ordinary
fellow
's
calves
.
